Marathon runner from Hampstead recalls terror in Boston

Published: Sunday, April 28, 2013 at 10:25 p.m.

Last Modified: Sunday, April 28, 2013 at 10:25 p.m.

During the frantic aftermath of the Boston Marathon explosions, Hampstead's Doug Dahlberg was three miles from the finish line, where family members and a lifelong friend were waiting to cheer him home.

Luckily, as he pointed out, the group was in a restaurant one-half block from the explosions.

"If they had not stopped for lunch, and you can say ‘What if' all you want, but if they had not stopped for lunch they would have been at the finish line,'' he said. "It is scary to think what would have happened. I have lost sleep over it.''

At the outset of the race, he was relaxed after being dropped off at the starting line by his sister Darlene Dahlberg Silva; his cousin Sandy, whom he had not seen in 15 years; and longtime friend Linda. The group later greeted him with signs of support at the 10-mile marker before heading toward the finish line.

As Dahlberg approached Heartbreak Hill, a challenging incline between miles 20 and 21 of the race, he sensed something amiss when National Guard members rushed past.

While running, Dahlberg never carries a cell phone, but other participants did. He eavesdropped on conversations, but kept going before EMTs intercepted him and others at the 23.5-mile checkpoint.

After confirmation of the explosions, his attention turned to the safety of victims close to the finish line. He held out hope no one was injured, but reports of the death of an 8-year-old boy, among others, became disturbing.

"They stopped the clock at the finish line and we thought they might reroute everyone and let us finish,'' Dahlberg said.

Thirty minutes later, motorcycle police briefed Dahlberg's group on what had happened and told them the area was being evacuated. Hopes of restarting the race ended moments later when they notified runners, for their safety, the race was being stopped.

The majority of people around Dahlberg were running for charities and appeared adamant on finishing.

"For the most part, everyone understood,'' he said. "You always have some ignorant people in the crowd.''

He recalled thinking Darlene must be a jinx. In November, she had flown to the New York City Marathon – which was eventually canceled – and now Boston to see him race.

Ninety minutes after the explosions, police and armed guards provided runners with shelter at a church near Boston College.

"It was kind of freaky,'' Dahlberg said. "They didn't want to put big groups of runners together because they did not know if runners were targets.''

But Dahlberg felt safe and struck up conversation with runners regarding charities. Some, he learned, ran for victims of the Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre in Newtown, Conn.

He remembers some runners appeared distraught, while others, like him, looked calm while attempting to make sense of events. The parties tried to contact loved ones and get rides to hotels, but were kept in the shelter since police were treating the course as a crime scene.

"They wanted to make sure everyone was accounted for and some people were getting mad,'' he said. "They could not go back toward Boston.''

Dahlberg was registered at a hotel in Framingham, 20 miles west of Boston, and stranded for almost four hours, with occasional updates from state police.

Erroneous reports surfaced that cell phone service was suspended for fear of detonating another bomb. Excessive cell phone usage, he later learned, had overloaded the system.

"Shutting it down was one of the biggest misconceptions because they were trying to triangulate where the person called from to set off the bomb,'' Dahlberg said. "Some people were getting through on cell phones and others were not. The people I was with, their phones were going dead. The longer it went on the more stressful it became.''

Dahlberg figured family and friends must be worried, but he had no way of reaching them. The bag with his cell phone and belongings remained at the finish line.

Peeking at his road identification bracelet, which contains family and medical emergency information, he tried to borrow a phone and notify Darlene he was OK.

As darkness grew, police escorts packed Dahlberg and the runners onto a bus to downtown Boston. Out the window, he spotted photographers and news crews filming the ride.

Dahlberg remembers marveling at the way the police and the Boston Athletic Association handled the aftermath.

"You hear it on the news, but to see it first hand is phenomenal,'' he said.

Once at the finish, Dahlberg picked up his already-searched belongings in a fenced off area blocks from the blasts. He first grabbed his phone, with the battery now low from more than 200 text messages and 150 missed calls, and attempted to contact Darlene.

By nature, Dahlberg is a loner, but was touched by the outpouring of concerned texts, calls and Facebook postings.

"I even say on Facebook, I like to run and keep to myself,'' he said. "But I am truly amazed by the number of people who called to check on me. I promised on Facebook from this moment on to be more open to them and be more accessible and be more of a friend.''

After reaching Darlene, he found her hysterical on the line. For hours, he learned, she had scoured running sites for clues of his whereabouts.

He posted a Twitter update telling everyone he was safe. But Darlene, in a state of panic, didn't want to give Dahlberg a lift to the hotel. She recommended he take the train, but she had his wallet.

However, a race volunteer handed him $15 for train fare.

"That is when reality of the events set in,'' he said. "It kind of restores your faith a little bit in people. Death and destruction, you see it on the news, really does bring out the best in people.''

<p>During the frantic aftermath of the Boston Marathon explosions, Hampstead's Doug Dahlberg was three miles from the finish line, where family members and a lifelong friend were waiting to cheer him home.</p><p>Luckily, as he pointed out, the group was in a restaurant one-half block from the explosions.</p><p>"If they had not stopped for lunch, and you can say 'What if' all you want, but if they had not stopped for lunch they would have been at the finish line,'' he said. "It is scary to think what would have happened. I have lost sleep over it.''</p><p>At the outset of the race, he was relaxed after being dropped off at the starting line by his sister Darlene Dahlberg Silva; his cousin Sandy, whom he had not seen in 15 years; and longtime friend Linda. The group later greeted him with signs of support at the 10-mile marker before heading toward the finish line.</p><p>As Dahlberg approached Heartbreak Hill, a challenging incline between miles 20 and 21 of the race, he sensed something amiss when National Guard members rushed past.</p><p>While running, Dahlberg never carries a cell phone, but other participants did. He eavesdropped on conversations, but kept going before EMTs intercepted him and others at the 23.5-mile checkpoint.</p><p>After confirmation of the explosions, his attention turned to the safety of victims close to the finish line. He held out hope no one was injured, but reports of the death of an 8-year-old boy, among others, became disturbing.</p><p>"They stopped the clock at the finish line and we thought they might reroute everyone and let us finish,'' Dahlberg said.</p><p>Thirty minutes later, motorcycle police briefed Dahlberg's group on what had happened and told them the area was being evacuated. Hopes of restarting the race ended moments later when they notified runners, for their safety, the race was being stopped.</p><p>The majority of people around Dahlberg were running for charities and appeared adamant on finishing. </p><p>"For the most part, everyone understood,'' he said. "You always have some ignorant people in the crowd.''</p><p>He recalled thinking Darlene must be a jinx. In November, she had flown to the New York City Marathon – which was eventually canceled – and now Boston to see him race.</p><p>Ninety minutes after the explosions, police and armed guards provided runners with shelter at a church near Boston College.</p><p>"It was kind of freaky,'' Dahlberg said. "They didn't want to put big groups of runners together because they did not know if runners were targets.''</p><p>But Dahlberg felt safe and struck up conversation with runners regarding charities. Some, he learned, ran for victims of the Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre in Newtown, Conn.</p><p>He remembers some runners appeared distraught, while others, like him, looked calm while attempting to make sense of events. The parties tried to contact loved ones and get rides to hotels, but were kept in the shelter since police were treating the course as a crime scene.</p><p>"They wanted to make sure everyone was accounted for and some people were getting mad,'' he said. "They could not go back toward Boston.''</p><p>Dahlberg was registered at a hotel in Framingham, 20 miles west of Boston, and stranded for almost four hours, with occasional updates from state police.</p><p>Erroneous reports surfaced that cell phone service was suspended for fear of detonating another bomb. Excessive cell phone usage, he later learned, had overloaded the system.</p><p>"Shutting it down was one of the biggest misconceptions because they were trying to triangulate where the person called from to set off the bomb,'' Dahlberg said. "Some people were getting through on cell phones and others were not. The people I was with, their phones were going dead. The longer it went on the more stressful it became.''</p><p>Dahlberg figured family and friends must be worried, but he had no way of reaching them. The bag with his cell phone and belongings remained at the finish line.</p><p>Peeking at his road identification bracelet, which contains family and medical emergency information, he tried to borrow a phone and notify Darlene he was OK.</p><p>As darkness grew, police escorts packed Dahlberg and the runners onto a bus to downtown Boston. Out the window, he spotted photographers and news crews filming the ride.</p><p>Dahlberg remembers marveling at the way the police and the Boston Athletic Association handled the aftermath.</p><p>"You hear it on the news, but to see it first hand is phenomenal,'' he said.</p><p>Once at the finish, Dahlberg picked up his already-searched belongings in a fenced off area blocks from the blasts. He first grabbed his phone, with the battery now low from more than 200 text messages and 150 missed calls, and attempted to contact Darlene.</p><p>By nature, Dahlberg is a loner, but was touched by the outpouring of concerned texts, calls and <a href="http://www.starnewsonline.com/facebook"><b>Facebook</b></a> postings.</p><p>"I even say on Facebook, I like to run and keep to myself,'' he said. "But I am truly amazed by the number of people who called to check on me. I promised on Facebook from this moment on to be more open to them and be more accessible and be more of a friend.''</p><p>After reaching Darlene, he found her hysterical on the line. For hours, he learned, she had scoured running sites for clues of his whereabouts. </p><p>He posted a <a href="http://www.starnewsonline.com/section/news41"><b>Twitter</b></a> update telling everyone he was safe. But Darlene, in a state of panic, didn't want to give Dahlberg a lift to the hotel. She recommended he take the train, but she had his wallet.</p><p>However, a race volunteer handed him $15 for train fare.</p><p>"That is when reality of the events set in,'' he said. "It kind of restores your faith a little bit in people. Death and destruction, you see it on the news, really does bring out the best in people.''</p>